


Life and Death and Beyond

by Chaos_In_A_Bag



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Good Demons, Heavy Angst, Hell, I'm Going to Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_In_A_Bag/pseuds/Chaos_In_A_Bag
Summary: Filos died of the bubonic plague in 1720. He went to Hell to protect one of his best friends. And after befriending a living girl, he explains his backstory.Literally me writing angst at midnight.
Relationships: Original Demon Character(s)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Life and Death and Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: angst, mentioned torture, mental breakdown, emotional breakdown, angst, nightmares, plague, death

"I suppose I'll tell you the story..."

"Of?"

"How I died, of course. And after."

"Filos, you don't need to-"

"Oh, but it seems I do."

ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ

I was born in Greece in 1708, and somehow, I don't quite remember, I made it to France. It was three hundred years ago, of course I don't know the details. It was a difficult journey, that's all I know.

It was 1720 when I first realized something was wrong with the world around me.

Back in Greece, people didn't drop like flies, and there weren't corpses littering the streets. Back in Greece, the smell of death didn't cling to the air and there was no reason for people to die needlessly. At the very least, I was too young to remember if there was.

I never really understood what was so wrong with everything.

My parents had died when I was eight, and I'd had four friends. They died too, though everyone assumed I'd known why. But there was no way for me to know why, it wasn't as if I had known there was a plague going around killing everyone.

I'm sure they'd mentioned it in the papers, along with a death count, among other things. But I didn't have any way to get them, because my parents, as well as any source of financial income, was dead.

Murdered, actually. I don't know by whom, but that's not the point of this.

It was a few days before my birthday, sometime in July. My birthday is July twelfth, though I could just be delusional.

I'd had some odd symptoms, a light cough, and a bit of nausea, but nothing too bad. Well, by my standards. And to be completely truthful, it got worse very fast.

My friend, named Anton, was with me most of the time. I hadn't raised a fuss when most of his family died due to the disease that I knew about only because of him. He never mentioned that it was highly contagious, and I don't blame him. He must not have known, or simply forgot to tell me. Either way, it wasn't his fault. Even if my life depended on it, and it did, I wouldn't care if he didn't know. I may be angry if he said he'd forgot, but I wouldn't blame him.

I had been devastated when I was strolling down the streets, and a boy stumbled toward me, and my heart dropped to my feet when I realized it was Anton.

I could barely recognize him, he was too thin, too pale, and too weak. He'd had large red bulges on his neck, and he was hyperventilating. I could barely move, until I realized that he's collapsed. The image was burned into my mind forever.

He needs help, but I can't help him.

I'm hugging him, I'm telling him he'll be okay, but it's not enough, because he can't survive this.

He's gone cold, and I can't tell if he's dead or if it's another symptom of the plague-

His eyes are dull, he's not blinking, not moving, not breathing.

I can't do anything to help him, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry-

Oh right. Back to the story.

Of course I'm fine, why would you ask? I'm sorry, I guess I zoned out a bit.

Anyways, after Anton died, I started feeling slightly ill.

I'd diagnosed myself with a fever, which means it was really bad, because even I knew my forehead was hot.

I expected to turn out like Anton had, but I was luckier, if that's what you can call it.

I collapsed on the grey streets, with grey buildings, and the smell of death and pain, and I could hear someone crying somewhere, but I didn't know where. It might just have been me.

My knees were bleeding, and I was coughing into my fist, I could taste the somewhat metallic tang of blood. It was kind of salty, with a hint of a savory flavor. I saw the redness on my hand, and winced, because I didn't know what was happening, because I had a deadly disease that killed millions.

I fell onto my hands, gagging. I didn't know what I was doing, I was moving on instinct at that point.

I was heaving, like I was going to vomit, but I hadn't eaten in a day, maybe more. I wasn't doing much of anything, just letting my body do what had to be done so the torture could finally be over.

My head was pounding, though I couldn't detect exactly when that began. I stopped doing, well, whatever I was doing before, heaving, crying, I don't know. I needed to be better, to stop hurting, because I had to see the old homeless man that I was giving my food to, we had become great friends. I choked on something- most likely blood- as I realized he might very well be dead.

Everyone I loved was gone, and I knew I was overreacting, because it was just a headache, but good Lord it hurt. It was like I was going to explode, and I would have welcomed it at that point.

The old man walk toward me, he seemed healthy, thriving in a place where many had died. He was walking upright, while I was curled in on myself, wishing for my own demise and whimpering pitifully.

The man crouched down beside me, and sighed regretfully. He pat my limp, black hair.

"So pale," He whispered. "Soon, my boy, soon." I could just barely feel him rub my shoulder, and I let out a sob, wondering what would happen to me. I was obviously going to die, and that was the only thought in my mind.

Did death hurt this much? I couldn't imagine it did, it was supposed to be an escape, a warm embrace, not the suffocating cold I felt.

I thought of the old man who was next to me. I tried to listen to what he was saying.

"I can't help you, Filos. But I can stay with you."

I sniffed, head in my knees. I didn't realize I was muttering until I heard my own voice.

"Please, please, please, please..." I felt pathetic, and I didn't want the man's pity.

I felt warm, suddenly. My headache dulled down a notable amount, and my muscles, which I realized were aching, felt better. I glanced at the man, who was smiling in a kind manner, and offered his hand.

I grabbed it, and saw my arm, it's transparency. I grinned tearfully as I understood, I was finally dead, it was finally over. The pain. The sorrow. Well, that's what I thought.

The man, whose name he had never given me, pulled me to my feet.

I threw my arms around him, and he chuckled at my excitement.

"Thank you, child." I realized I'd never heard his voice until that moment. It was deep, and kind, filling me with calmness. "For all you've given me, all you've sacrificed for my sake."

I let the man go, and turned to the boy curled up against the wall, still. He radiated such pain, and anguish.

I couldn't help it as I covered my mouth with my hands and backed up slowly, running into the man. "Who...?"

"That's you, Filos." I calmed down as I recognized my black hair, pale skin, and small frame.

"What's your name?" I asked the man, turning to him, not wanting to see my own corpse.

"My name... now that's a tough one." He chuckled. "My name hasn't been spoken in years. I daresay I don't remember my name." I brightened as I thought of a fitting one for him.

"Geros!" I exclaimed. "It means 'Old Man' in Greek!" He laughed, patting my head.

"Fitting." He paused. "But I'm not that old." I laughed, not because it was funny, but because it felt good to laugh.

"Now, boy, we must see where you'll go." I stopped laughing and gazed at Geros.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, weather you go to the good or the bad place is determined by three people you killed and four you saved."

"But I never killed or saved anyone!"

Geros stared at me blankly, then flicked me in the head.

"Hey!"

Without another word, he led me into a shining light, where I was blinded for a minute before coming out into a dark room, where there weren't even walls, it was just black.

"FILOS!" I heard, and turned to the source of the voice. It was my mother.

I sprinted to her and we hugged each other. I smiled.

"What happened!? How did you die!?" She was frantically patting my shoulders, trying to get nonexistent dust off.

"Painfully," I joked. Her eyes widened, but I wasn't kidding, so I didn't say I was.

She fretted for a while more, before my father and a girl, my age, came to me.

"My name's Filia," she said. She had wavy black hair, and she was pale, with green eyes, like me. "You're Filos. I'm your sister that you killed and absorbed while we were still being developed." I blinked.

"I did!? I'm so sorry!" Filia laughed.

"No worries, Filos. We look alike, and I'm gorgeous, so I guess you're pretty, too." I blinked.

"I'm a boy." Filia laughed again.

"Oopsies! Well, you're still pretty, so." I sighed, but laughed.

"Shall we get on with it then?" Geros asked.

My mother and Filia went to the left side of me, and my four friends who had died because of the plague stood to the right of me.

My father went to the left side as well, but not happily.

My father was a... complicated man.

He was good to me and my mother, but to others, he was terrible. He would hurt them if he had to. He would steal and bribe, threaten and blackmail.

I don't think he liked me all that much, honestly. But he loved my mother, so he tolerated me. I stayed out of his way, mostly.

Then they were murdered.

Anyway, I was standing in the middle of seven people, whose eyes were burning a hole in my head.

"Where will you go, Filos?" Geros asked.

I wanted to say Heaven. I wanted to say that I deserved all the world had to offer. I wanted to say that I could accept what I don't deserve. But I didn't want to know what was down there. I didn't want to know what they would do to me. And I definitely didn't want to witness what they do to others.

My friends, Francis, Adrian, Dion, and Cassius all smiled warmly.

"Heaven," Francis and Adrian, brothers, said in unison.

"The good place," Dion whispered. "Nobody deserves what the bad place has to offer." He shuddered, shrinking in on himself. The horrible things he'd done must not have gone unpunished.

"Ya know, I don't care." Everybody glared at Cassius. "Let me explain."

He looked around at everyone staring into Cassius, waiting.

"He- the bad place- is horrible. But we've all done horrible things, and you of all people know that, Dion. But we've all helped people. We've all done all we could to help some, and done all we could to hurt others. So it depends on who you are, and you're freaking lucky that nobody you've hurt has died, because you'd be downstairs way faster." Cassius looked at our friends. "Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right."

Dion glowered at Cassius.

"IT'S NO WALK IN THE PARK DOWN THERE, YOU KNOW!" He screamed. "FILOS IS THE KINDEST OF US ALL! HE DOESN'T DESERVE IT! MAYBE THE REST OF US, BUT FILOS DESERVES SO MUCH BETTER!"

"Dion," I said.

"AND- AND-"

"DION." He stared at me, eyes wide. I smiled at him, stepped over to him in my bare feet, and put my hand on his head.

"It's fine." He sniffed, and I saw tears in his dull blue eyes, but he didn't let them fall, only wiping them on the back of his hand. Dion's lip trembled, but he just grit his teeth and closed his eyes.

I wrapped my arms around his slim frame, wincing as I felt his thinness. The slight gaps in his back, like deep cuts that don't bleed. I realized that must have been exactly what those were.

He pushed me away after a minute or so, and smiled softly.

"Heaven," he whispered in a broken voice. "The only choice is Heaven."

The others, Cassius, Francis, and Adrian, nodded in agreement. My mother and sister nodded as well.

My father rolled his eyes, but nodded sharply.

I looked at Dion, who was begging me with his eyes, his broken, sorrowful eyes.

I'd seen what Dion looked like when he was faking grief, and the agony in his expression was nothing like I've seen in anyone, it was too genuine.

"I need to stay with Dion," I said. "I can't leave him to suffer in wherever he is." Dion screamed "no" over and over again. His voice was raw, like he'd been screaming before. I couldn't leave him to whatever torture he'd faced.

Geros frowned.

"Boy, you mustn't- you mustn't risk your, well, innocence, sanity, anything, for the boy next to you."

My eyes were blazing.

"And why on earth not?"

He stuttered, nervous.

"Because he sinned, he sinned horribly, and you're pure, so you must not protect one who is a sinner such as he."

"What did he even do!?" I yelled.

"He murdered someone." I blinked, glancing at Dion, mainly for some sort of defending himself.

"He asked me to do it," Dion said quietly. "He had the plague, and he was hurting so much, I couldn't stand to see him in such pain. H-he begged me, he had such a dead look, I couldn't help it, he a-asked me, it was so pitiful, I couldn't stand watching him like that, so I k-killed h-him." Remember the tears in his eyes? Well he was crying now.

Filia was frozen. Her eyes were wide.

"The world is a creul place," my mother said gently, putting her hand on my sister's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Dion," Adrian murmured.

"I am sorry as well," agreed Francis.

"Why?" Asked Dion.

"You don't deserve anything that has come to you," said Francis, his grey eyes full of pity.

"Nor anything that will." Adrian's sad expression said more than words.

"I don't want your pity," Dion muttered scornfully.

"Huh?" Asked Cassius.

"He said that he didn't want your pity," I responded for Dion, because if he'd responded himself, it would have come out in a scream.

"This was all well and good," Geros sarcastically said, "but shall we get you going to the bad place? You can be escorted with Dion."

I listened to the protests behind me as Dion led me into the blackness of the weird place we were in.

With every step we took, Dion seemed to shrink in on himself a bit more.

I put my arm around him, and he leaned into me, seeming small and delicate.

Timeskip to about two centuries later.

The days blended together, because there were no days. There was no sky, just a place with hills made of rust and blood, the air was red, and the entire concept of happiness seemed so far away.

We couldn't even die to get out.

Dion was "favored" by whoever was in charge, meaning they enjoyed the sound of his screams.

He'd stopped screaming after a long while.

At that point he was completely unresponsive, he refused, or maybe he couldn't, breathe. We got ten minute breaks every day, which was practically heaven. He wouldn't do anything, just sit completely still and let me have a one-sided conversation with him.

At first, it had seemed that he was paying attention, but after some time, he was just... there.

He was a husk, a corpse with a soul.

Until one day, one single moment, where I'd broke.

"SAY SOMETHING, DARN IT!" I screamed at him. "I CAN'T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU! PLEASE, SAY SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING!" I'd never screamed before, choosing instead to quietly melt into the background.

Dion put his hand on my head, his eyes are still dead.

His eyes are dead.

I can't bring him to life again, and it's my fault.

My fault he's like this.

My fault that he doesn't know what joy is anymore.

My fault, it's all my fault.

He can't even speak anymore, he's blocked out everything out.

What do you mean, crying? I'm not- oh, I suppose I am.

I must have zoned out again, I apologise.

Anyways, I screamed. I cried. I felt no shame, either. Merely something resembling regret.

Dion, or whatever Dion used to be, hugged me. He seemed to have awoken from his slumber, or maybe it was death. I'm not sure.

I shut up, and felt the foreign, yet familiar warmth of a friend. I held him tightly, his cries stabbing my heart.

"Tell me, Dion," I murmured, "why do you not speak? Not feel? Barely exist?" His answer hurt me. I loved him, he was my best friend. And yet.

"I d-don't want to feel... anymore..." He'd said. "I don't want to live anymore. I don't want to exist. It's driving me mad." And then he died.

Not literally, of course. But internally. His spirit broke in half, due to the weight of, well, everything on his small, scarred shoulders.

Dion shivered, like he was cold, and he laughed, he laughed into my chest like everything he had, we had gone through, was something anyone could laugh at.

His body broke, then his spirit, then his mind. I did nothing. I couldn't do much else.

I saw the person in charge grab Dion by the back of his torn shirt.

"Please don't take him..." I pleaded. They tore him away from my grasp and took him to where the broken people go.

Some say heaven.

Others say it's a torture that makes even the dead cry out in pain.

Others say they dissapear.

I don't know what Dion is going through right now.

I want to know if he'll be okay.

But I don't know, and I can't exactly check.

Then, when my only reason to fight was gone, I was nothing.

Then I was gone.

There was a chance to possess a corpse. Old people. But my aim's horrible. So I possessed you, instead, little demon.

ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ

"Why are you hugging me?" He asked.

"Because you're crying."

"No, I'm not-"

"Well, your eyes look full of anguish and your heart seems broken, so I'm honestly more concerned that you're not crying," the girl, Lexi, pointed out, letting him go.

He opened his mouth to make a witty remark, then shut it when he felt his throat get scratchy.

He finally realized what was so wrong with him.

He didn't let himself feel. He blocked out his emotions, and instead had fake joy, happiness, contentment.

He wanted to feel something good.

Filos covered his mouth with his hands in order to stop his cries from being too obvious.

He felt something wet roll down his face, and he sobbed once into his hand when he realized it was a tear.

He felt something in him break a bit, tearing to shreds. Filos didn't want to know what it was.

He felt arms embrace him, sharing their warmth. Lexi stayed silent through everything. When he didn't hug her back, instead hugging himself. His heartbreaking sobs turned into quiet, pathetic whimpers.

The girl didn't say a word when he began screaming, his voice cracking every so often. He didn't stop, and Lexi didn't want him to stop until he was ready.

His voice was filled with such agony, pain, and turning hoarse. He screamed until he couldn't anymore, then just sat, allowed Lexi to stroke his hair and rub his back and wincing when she felt how thin he was, and how there were slight gaps in his back, like cuts that don't bleed.

He sat there for a short while before smiling and standing up.

"...Filos?" He chuckled.

"Lexi, I'm fine. Just needed to get that out is all." Lexi's face morphed into one of concern.

"I mean, if you say so..."

So things went back to normal. They teased each other, though Lexi made sure not to use the word "Hell" as a curse anymore, and she hoped that she wouldn't have a school assignment about the bubonic plague.

Filos pretended nothing happened, not the story, nor what happened in the story. He pretended everything was fine. He pretended he didn't have nightmares, he pretended he woke up feeling refreshed, instead of waking up crying and trying not to scream.

Lexi didn't suspect a thing.

Well, that's what he thought, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> Whaaat!? Me!? Write something of such... Pain?  
> ...  
> Yeah I would totally do that.


End file.
